


Sick

by oneatatime



Series: In any world, you're still my best friend (((standalone stories set in same universe))) [2]
Category: Kamen Rider Ghost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6383605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series. The siblings are unwell, and Makoto has an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butyoumight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/gifts).



Makoto had really hoped he'd avoided it. But no. Only a day after Kanon turned the corner and began to be able to sleep more than an hour at a time without wheezing, he'd found his own chest tight, his eyes watery, and his throat scratchy. Which meant at least another week in quarantine together. He should be resigned to it by now, but it was so _boring._

Alia-sama had visited them now and then. Makoto hadn't expected anyone else, though he'd found himself hoping a little, now and then, that perhaps Alain was missing him. They'd expanded their sparring sessions into a daily event, and sometimes afterwards, Alain would ask questions about Earth. It was awful to talk about home. It was wonderful to talk about home. It helped Makoto to fix in his mind some of the things that he wanted to make sure Kanon knew. He hadn't exactly been very old when they'd come here, but she'd been so much younger. She needed to be educated about her home, for when they went back. (And they would go back. They definitely would. They had to. They'd been here more than long enough, for all that some parts of it were okay.)

Mostly it was the lower caste who spent time with them. The 'doctors', for want of a better word. They weren't like any doctors Makoto had ever known. They'd given them food on a very much trial and error basis in the first few weeks after they'd come to this world, and didn't seem at all bothered by the siblings' reactions except for the time Kanon had nearly thrown up on one's foot. The two of them had spent half their time hungry and the other half nauseous, until they'd found a few foods that seemed to work well enough. At least water was the same here. 

The Ganma were all horribly alarmed every time either of the siblings got sick, and in a way Makoto could understand it. They didn't have illness here - at least, not that he'd seen. Not in their artificial bodies. They had some medicine, but again, most of it had odd effects on the two of them. When they just had colds, with Alia-sama's support, Makoto and Kanon basically just told the doctors they wanted water and bed rest. 

He understood, but it still made him feel like scum when they wore all over biohazard suits to basically force him into the bed next to Kanon's, even though he'd been perfectly willing to lie down all by himself. The one concession to human needs for comfort was a thin pallet on top of the stone 'mattress'. No pillow. He'd had to fight for the pallet. Makoto suspected that when they got back to Earth, he'd find it near impossible to sleep in a proper bed again. At least he was used to the temperatures here by now.

He sighed, and rolled over to face her. She was asleep again, her eyelashes dark against the paleness of her cheeks. He was grateful she was resting. He coughed quietly into his forearm, then picked up an entertainment screen from Alia. Well. Educational, really, more than entertainment. They didn't have stories here in the same way as at home, so this was a history primer written in basic Ganma. It was helping him learn their system of writing, even if it was dry as anything. 

...there was a tap at the long low observation window behind him. 

Makoto twisted. There were two of the doctor Ganma there, and... and Alain. He blinked, and nodded, for lack of anything better to do. Alain entered the small airlock, and nodded abruptly in greeting. "Fukami Makoto." 

It was hard to hear him through the breathing mask, but it was kind of obvious what he'd said. "Alain." 

"You're unwell." 

"Yes," Makoto said, forcing himself to sit up. He really preferred to lie down just now, physically speaking. He grabbed another of the small scraps of cloth they'd allotted them, from the small table in between them. Two piles. His own blue, and Kanon's pink. Two of the few things in here that weren't grey. Absorbent enough to dab his stupid eyes with. "You're not worried about getting it?" 

Alain didn't answer the question. He gave Kanon what - what almost looked like a concerned look, and Makoto broke into a smile at the sight of it. Alain's eyes flicked to his, and then his expression hastily smoothed, but Makoto knew what he'd seen. 

Alain sat down on the chair next to his own bed, and reached out to touch Makoto's forehead. Makoto's eyebrows climbed up, but he stayed still obediently. "You're very warm. Aneue said you were. It's so odd." 

Makoto cleared his throat, then did it again. Scratchy and annoying. "Yes, it's my body fighting infection," he said quietly. "It's all right. We'll both get better." 

"Aa. I..." 

Did Alain actually look embarrassed here as he irritably took off the mask and rubbed at the place where the strap had been too tight against his jaw? He mustn't be too worried about catching it, but then the fact that none of the Ganma had ever caught anything off the two of them was perhaps a fact that meant something to Alain. Unlike most other people here.

"Yes?"

"...was hoping to hear the end of the story about the child inside the 'peach'." Alain pronounced the word very carefully, and softly. Trying not to wake Kanon. Good. 

Makoto looked away this time to hide his smile. He needed to rest, really, but it. It was actually nice, that Alain had missed him at their training session. "All right, but only if you tell me a story afterwards," he said, matter of fact. Alain actually managed not to twitch at Makoto not using honorifics and falling all over himself in subservience, for once. 

"I don't know any."

"Make one up." 

Alain frowned at him, then gave him what was almost a smile. "All right." 

He took his hand away, and Makoto made a face. He was nice and cool, dammit. 

...he was two sentences into the rest of the Momotaro story when he realised that Alain's hand was pleasantly cool on top of his own. Oh. Makoto squeezed back gently, and continued.


End file.
